The Devil's In the Details
by TeenFandomDork39
Summary: Harry Potter was left in the care of his Aunt and Uncle. Albus Dumbledore has always worn rose-tinted glasses. A month into the summer before his 2nd year, Vernon gets worked into a rampage. Harry is brutally murdered as a result. But no one knows. And after his resurrection, they'll wish they'd never left him there. Demon!Harry Dark!Harry (later)Grey!Harry (Contains dark themes.)
1. Harry's First Death

**A/N:** This chapter has been updated to its full length. Please reread if you have only seen the 500 word version that I posted just to make sure I did not forget.

SEVERE SEVERE SEVERE CHILD TORTURE AND DEATH. NOT FOR THOSE WITH A WEAK STOMACH.

"regular"

/ _parseltongue/_

" _Angel tongue."_

 **"Demon tongue."**

 _'thought'_

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A small hoot came from the floor above, and Vernon's left eye twitched. The _boy_ was on thin ice as it was, and he could at least keep that bloody bird quiet!

Just the other day, his Dudders, his pride and joy, had come to him whimpering about being threatened with _it_. Vernon was furious. His mustache quivered as he got immersed in memory, and his complexion slowly started to purple. His thick, stubbly fingers flexed slightly, and he almost broke the large bottle of brandy he was drinking. His rage lessened for a moment as he relaxed his grip and took a large swig of alcohol. One swig turned into two. Then three. Not long after, the entire bottle was empty, and Vernon Dursley was a bumbling mess of flab, rage, and alcohol.

"BOY!" He yelled up the stairs, at he trodded thickly to the cupboard under the stairs. Despite his fumbling and swearing, he managed to unlock and open it right as the Freak came into view. Drunkenly, Vernon broke into the large wooden trunk, and searched hazily for the damnable magic stick.

"No! Harry cried, momentarily forgetting any self-preservation in his sudden terror. Vernon's back became rigid, and the hulking man turned slowly to the messy-haired, nearly-12-year-old. Face surprising impassive, the man dropped the wand to the floor. With a sharp glint of malice in his eye, Vernon Dursley stepped on the stick. Harry's lower lip trembled, and he nearly dove down the stairs in a vain attempt to rescue his source of power.

You see, Hogwarts both trained, and disabled you. You were instructed on how to cast spells, write runes, make wards, etc. But you were also stripped of the ability to perform wandless magic, due to the heavy reliance on the magical conduit, a wizard's wand. During the period that Phineas Nigellus Black was the Headmaster of Hogwarts School, it was noted that purebloods had difficulties with spellcasting that muggleborns and half-bloods did not. These observations were taken to the Board of Governors, and as the Board was made up of primarily bigoted and proud purebloods, it was discreetly passed that all witches and wizards were to carry a wand. Once it was learned that wands made casting much, much easier, Wizarding Britain proudly promoted the dependency of wand-usage. As such, Harry, being muggle-raised, and trained only to use a wand, had just lost his source of power, and his only method of protection.

"You little," hiccup, " _Freak,_ thinking you can disobey ME! " He howled, kicking the small child beneath him. Harry bit his lip harshly as the heavy appendage was forced into his abdomen. Ribs creaking, he instinctively curled in on himself and bit through his lip as a second kick impacted against his hip. Blood filled his mouth as the abused skin was broken through and his lip tore under the stress of his suppressed screams. A second, third, fourth, and fifth harsh kick to the same location caused a squelching POP to reverberate through the room, and a scream of agony to escape the battered lips of the 11-nearly-12-year-old. From the malnutrition, the child's bones were more fragile and brittle. This unfortunately, increased the damage done in the half hour of abuse that had occurred so far.

A clock rang loudly from the other room, but Vernon didn't hear it in his drunken rage. Petunia and Dudley would be home from the store in another hour. And that was all he would need. You might wonder why the police hadn't been called by the muggle neighbors in the quiet, normal neighborhood. The reason is, because of the Blood Wards. The wards were set up to protect the young Potter, to shield him from magicals who would wish him harm, and to hide any unusual happenings. Very mild Notice-Me-Not charms were in place, and despite it not being their original purpose, they were strong enough to convince the muggles that nothing was out of the ordinary. The squib, Mrs. Figg, being rather elderly and having need of a replacement hearing aid, cocked her head from her rocking chair, as her half-Kneazle Mr. Tibbles yowled rather frighteningly. She was momentarily worried at his behavior, what with his ears laid back and fur raised, but as she could hear nothing, she simply assumed it was a nearby dog. Hesitating for a moment, she decided against contacting Dumbledore. If it were anything big, Albus would certainly already know.

Harry cried out as he was yanked upward from his spot on the wooden floor, and his displaced hip was knocked even further from its natural position. This only served to enrage the obscenely large man before him. Vernon slapped the small boy soundly, and Harry's head whipped around at the extreme force behind the offending limb. A rough shake caused a whimper of pain to echo in the dark hallway, and Harry James Potter was thrown against the door of the cupboard he had lived in for so long. Impact against the door handle caused the boy to arch his spine instinctively away from the protruding handle, and tears to spring to his eyes as he felt pain rock through his body. His ribs screamed in protest, and an audible SNAP! signaled the fracturing of the smallest rib on his left side.

If one had looked, visible bruising and raised skin would have easily shown the massive amount of internal bleeding occurring. His kidneys had taken multiple kicks, and he was pretty sure his lungs were bleeding. As he curled up protectively into the fetal position, his hand was stepped on and ground into the floor by the heel on his Uncle's shoe, and Harry vaguely remembered his Health and P.E. teacher lecturing about the skeletal system. In the mind numbing haze of pain, he idly thought ' _there go my phalanges. I wonder if my patella and femur are next.'_

Despite what Hermione and his professors at Hogwarts thought, Harry was incredibly smart without even trying. However, due to becoming accustomed to purposely failing so that he was never better than Dudley, and desperately wanting to keep his first friend, who didn't even try in school, his grades remained poor, and his intelligence hidden. His embarrassment in his first Potions class had briefly caused him to put in his maximum effort, before he noticed Ron insulting those who studied, and he meekly lowered his amount of effort. His morals made him want to scold Ron for insulting Hermione after Charms that fateful day on Hallowe'en, but his desperation for a friend had him keep his mouth shut. He nearly explained this to Hermione, after they became friends, but seeing how his first friend still treated brainiacs, he ended up not saying anything.

As if reading his mind, not that he could, especially what with how insane he was at the moment, Vernon Dursley tossed him like a rag doll into the opposite wall, shattering his kneecap and breaking his femur, the thigh bone. His tibia creaked dangerously, and his fibula was broken in three separate places, poking grotesquely out of the skin, blood spurting onto the floor. At the sight of the red life giving liquid, Dursley snarled inhumanly. Unknown to the two humans currently residing inside Number 4 Privet Drive, a dark entity with a wide smile that legitimately went from ear to ear, or rather, hearing cavity to hearing cavity, cackled evilly.

Fueled by powers unknown to the duo, the obese drunk grabbed the 11-almost-12-year-old and twisting his arm, dragged the limp child to the kitchen, leaving a thin trail of blood across the tiles of the pristine vinyl floor. With a ugly grin full of blood-lust, Vernon grabbed a wickedly sharp carving knife from the cutlery holder. Fear flooded Harry's body, blocking out most of the pain as adrenaline pumped through his veins, and his fight-or-flight reflexes landed frantically on flight. Panicked, Harry dragged his body as far as he could from the his insane uncle, gritting his teeth as he army-crawled towards the front door. The glasses started to shake, and a light fixture above Vernon exploded, before the mysterious figure watching distantly through the kitchen window clamped down on the intensely powerful straining magic with ease.

It's ghastly wide grin dropped minutely, and an animalistic snarl echoed down the street. A dog yelped, and the being chuckled. It _twisted_ with its dark form of magic, if it could be called that.

Harry gasped and stopped mid-crawl as something deep within him, in his heart and soul, was wound up and twisted with growing tension. His magic, not that he knew it, was physically yanked and twisted round and round until it could twist no more. Then it was let go, and Harry was pushed by an unseen force, flying into the drawers next to the sink. He cracked open a single eyelid, and his stomach sunk. His magic and soul were whimpering like an injured pup from whatever had just attacked him, and his heart was beating out of his chest at the immediate danger that was before him. Vernon was approaching at a steady pace, knife in hand.

From a distance, the dark being lazily dragged a single clawed finger diagonally through the air.

The boy's injured hand flew to his face, as a long scratch was made deep into the flesh of his face by an invisible force, carving itself into the bone marrow as if it were butter. Vernon ignored this anomaly, marking it down as the _thing_ 's freakishness. It didn't occur to his tiny brain, that the boy wouldn't do this to himself.

Bleeding hands desperately scrabbled for purchase as the small figure attempted to reach the drawer closest, which the boy knew held forks and small knives. But he was quickly ripped away, and his throat was held in an iron grip. A wickedly sharp blade was slashed across the side of his neck, below his ear, severing his carotid artery. A follow-up stab to side of the neck left the blade broken off into the muscle as the first scarlet geyser erupted with force and morbid beauty. A hammer that had been left on the floor next to a loose nail that Dursley had been meaning to fix, was quickly hefted, and bashed in the jugular of the raven-haired, green-eyed child.

Ruined fingers clawed at his throat, and Harry's crushed larynx struggled to make noise. The darkness of unconsciousness and the soon-following death, was pressing down, making his vision spotten and darken. The rapid spurts of blood pumped in rhythm with the quick heartbeat, and in moments, a pint of blood was pooled on the floor, draining into the cracks of the stone, vinyl, and varnishing. Harry's head spun, and he barely felt his radial artery being slashed open, until his headache worsen drastically, and he felt like vomiting. A few more red geysers spurting from his inner elbow and his neck made the feeling become a reality. As he emptied his rather small and shriveled stomach (Aunt Petunia hadn't allowed him much food, and he hadn't gotten anything from Mrs. Weasley since the middle of his second week of summer,) he couldn't help but think, _'Aunt Petunia would be furious.'_

A second pint of sticky, scarlet life liquid joined the first, and a fine mist of blood decorated the cabinets he'd been left against. The dull sound of a car door being slammed shut caused Harry to moan in pain as his head throbbed, and an insanely grinning Vernon Dursley to look up, smile slipping slightly as the control on his mind was let go. He glanced at his nephew apathetically, until it penetrated his thick skull that _normal people_ didn't torture children, and that his family was home. Covered in blood, his face paled to match the skin tone of his blood-deprived and dying nephew. He futilely tried to tug the nearly-dead corpse somewhere out of sight, when the front door opened.

"-ut Mum! Piers said that only lame kids don't have..." The overweight boy trailed off. "Mum?" He said thickly, voice colored slightly with confusion.

"Yes, Duddikins? What is i..." She stopped abruptly. A horrified scream left her mouth at the sight of her beloved, _normal,_ husband tugging what looked to be the body of her murdered nephew. With a bloody knife on the kitchen floor next to him, and his shirt and trousers soaked with blood, it was undeniable what had happened. "Vernon what have you done?!" She wailed, pushing her large, heavy son behind her protectively as she took in the scene. Dudley Dursley could only dry heave as the image of his mutilated and dying cousin replayed in his mind. The large boy stumbled put of the house, falling on his fat rear onto the wet grass as he crawled backward away from the house. A nice shade of chartreuse, the ice cream and obscene amount of chocolate he'd eaten came back up and spilled onto the ground, with disgusting noises playing in the background, making it obvious to his mother what had happened, even if she couldn't tear her eyes away from the horrific scene to see it.

"Au-Aunt Pet-Petuni-Tuney-aaaaa." Harry gargled through the blood that flooded his ruined throat. His small body shuddered, and his eyelids fluttered over his dimming brilliant emerald green eyes. Then suddenly, he went limp, and the eyes he'd gained from his deceased mother closed and went dark.

As his juvenile brain started to shut down as his heart stopped, his nervous system caused his left leg to spasm visibly. His last reflex movement sent the murder weapon with small traces of meat, flesh, and a lot of sticky blood attached to the blade, was sent spinning across the room to rest at the dead child's Aunt's feet. Simultaneously, Vernon Dursley's grip on the matted mess of inky black hair loosened, and he dropped the cooling corpse, with blood still gushing from the death wounds, and Petunia Dursley puked on her $112.55 shoes.

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 **"Forgive me _Father,_ for I have sinned." **The shadowed entity begged mockingly, face tilted to the cloudy, dark blue evening sky. Inky black tears flowed down the veiled face of the being, and dropped to the ground forming a small puddle that shivered with sentient amusement. As the seventh oily tear dropped, the being's face cleared, and a wide smirk took center stage. **"As if I'd ever care for the opinion of an old fool."** It said, sneering. **" _My_ Father would be proud. And so he shall."**

 _"Azazel_ _."_ A weak, broken voice whispered he ground rumbled slightly. It wasn't noticeable to the hairless apes, but it was to the servant of Hell. **" _Yes,_ Gadreel?"** The being, Azazel, drawled, rolling his cold yellow eyes. _"The angels may be fools, and our Father may have given up on us in his disappointment, but you shall not bring Hell to Earth. Not only will the Vessels fight your Father and my Brothers the whole way, the Child shall be the Savior. His destiny is greater than you know._

 **"Oh put a sock in it, Gaydreel. Don't you have something else to do, like spend some 'quality time' with your fellow winged prisoner, Abner? He doesn't love you back, you know."** The General of Hell shot back harshly. The angel's words had struck a nerve.

Silence reigned for a long moment. _"I know."_ Gadreel said in an impossibly low voice. Azazel laughed maliciously.

A flutter of wings sounded behind the demon. _"Thank you, Brother. You may be a failure to our Father, and you may have not meant to, but you have lead Heaven to this General of Hell. I shall inform The Jailor to give you a day's rest."_ Said Uriel respectfully. The broken presence retreated as if stung, and Azazel turned around lazily.

 **"Hello, Uriel."** He said. With a fluttering of shadows, Azazel departed. Uriel looked around curiously, before departing in a sweeping woosh of wings. The angel did not notice Number 4 Privet Drive. It was hidden to this Warrior of Heaven.


	2. Fate Intervenes (Updated)

**A/N: Anyone who's waiting for a Sons of Hades update, don't worry, it'll be up very, very soon. I apologize for the delay, it's just that I had three weeks of summer P.E. and then after that finished, I've just been having difficulties piecing the chapter together. Then I had three more weeks of drama... The way I've chosen to format the chapter is much different than usual for reasons you'll find out, and it's much more difficult to write. However, I only plan to make things different for this next SoH chapter alone, and then things will go back to normal.  
** **As for my followers of TDITD, if you have any questions, feel free to ask. I realize there may be some confusing bits from last chapter, that either I didn't realize were confusing to people who don't know what I meant, or parts that are meant to be confusing, but that I will elaborate a bit on if you want. Some parts will remain vague, for reasons, but ya know, you'll find out later. That's a wrap, and on with the story, cheers m8!**

 **Note: After last chapter some people might question if I'm a psychopath or not. I'm not, I swear. I just read and watch a lot of crime/horror shows and books, plus I know a ton about bones from Bones lol, plus I want to be a forensic anthropologist/pathologist. Add Google into the mix and you get a kinda horrifyingly gruesome chappie.**

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After hours of pain, adrenaline, and fear, Harry felt calm. Wind swooshed past, and he couldn't see anything, but he was calm.

Now one might think that Harry, as an 11-almost-12-year-old child, and someone who had defeated a Dark Lord, would go straight to Heaven. Well, truth is, Fate had a special plan for Harry James Potter. Everything had gone awry, after that _stupid_ son of a backwards mongoose had decided to control Vernon Dursley. They was so much paperwork, and She had to clean up the mess! What an ungrateful piece of sentient second-hand smoke.

Of course, Her Father and Mother were the Creator of the universe, but Fate was the one who kept everything running. Annoyingly, she wasn't given much credit for all that she'd done. Not even from her son, God! The nerve of the whelp. Just because he'd created Earth, didn't give him the right to be so insolent. Amusingly, Fate was in the form of a small preteen girl with auburn hair and violet eyes, sclera and all. On the flip side, her second son currently favored the form of a middle aged man. What was his human name, again? Chris? Charizard? No, she thought, that was the name of a Pokemon.

Her laugh echoed across time and space, and a shiver ran down the spine of all sentient beings. A robin chirped and plummeted to the ground as its wings locked in fear.

Oh yes, Chuck! That was it. After the gender identity issues he'd had in the, 1790's, was it, God had stuck to male forms. Death had been a much easier child, Fate mused. Death primarily stuck to rather androgynous and sexless forms, only taking the form of a rather stern, elder business man when holding council with mortals. To make an impression, you understand. And then Darkness, well, she was a whole other problem to raised. And yes, to raise. Darkness, God, and Death were not the first beings, despite what they may tell you. No, Chaos and Order were first, followed by Fate, their Child, and Her Children.

She calls Darkness Her child, and God calls her His sister, but truthfully, she is the offspring of Chaos, birthed from him and him alone. But Chaos and Order fell asleep many eons ago. And the running of the universe is left to Fate and her Children.

But I digress. After living for so long, time seems unimportant. But for Fate's Chosen, the clock still runs.

So, Harry's story has been changed, by Lucifer's spawn, Azazel. Despite this... Inconvenience, it's an interesting opportunity. So to Hell his soul shall go. It seems, that the story has changed. And the Winchesters have been knocking over dominoes for a living, as well as a few angelic grandsons, so a meeting may be in order.

With a sudden eagerness filling pure violet eyes, Fate giggled, and rubbed her hands together gleefully.

"Oh, Death, darling!" The eons old child called out in a sing song voice. A swoosh of wind signaled the near-silent arrival.

"Yes, Mother?" Replied a smooth, dark chocolate voice.

 ** _XXXXXxxxxxXXXXX_**

He had no body. His soul shot through the channels and roads within the fiery caverns, past the boring fields with boring people, and the endless rooms with thick chains and manacles. Carts rolled by, trays of bloody weapons, and horrific looking torture devices that would make most people cringe. Ugly, horrendous looking clouds of sulfur and smoke raced by, screams echoing in the corridors.

But he was being sent past all this by an age old force. He'd just been murdered, so frankly, he didn't care. He just wanted to see his mum and dad again, and apologize for getting them killed. It didn't occur to him how _wrong_ that sentence was. Even the recently deceased souls that began whispering fiercely as he passed didn't faze him. The demon screaming in rage about an escape soul, _"Dean Winchester of all people,"_ did momentarily catch his attention, for reasons unknown to him, before he sailed past at intensively increased rates.

He was sped to a palace, with dark, towering walls, flickering hell-fire torches, and screaming souls chained to the entrance. Rotting doors swung open to welcome him, and the weeping souls could only scream _" **Lilith!"** _ as he was swept past them. Suddenly, he stopped, and was unceremoniously bound to a spiked chair. He made no noise, and the female demon before him gave a small, yet menacing, look of approval.

 **"You have done well, Azazel. But you have not informed me of why this soul is important to our Father's uprising?** **"** Lilith said, picking at her cuticles. Despite her relaxed posture and casual tone, the demon behind her stiffened.

 **"I only know that he is powerful. Whispers say that he has a great destiny, a prophecy to fulfill. Such power could be a great asset to us _."_** Azazel replied. Lilith was silent. Showing his naivety, and his recklessness, Harry spoke up.

 **"Who are you? Where are my family?"** He demanded, a sinking feeling starting in his gut. Lilith threw back her head, and laughed. Her laugh echoed around the room, and the souls chained outside the doors screamed louder.

 **"Feisty."** She declared, stalking towards Harry. **"And what makes you so brave, little soul?"** She wondered aloud. Harry didn't reply, because he himself wasn't sure. She ignored him, and instead did something strange. Unhinging her jaw like a snake, a deep, hissing voice came from her mouth, loudly calling out, **"$Alistair!$"**

Harry tilted his head curiously. **"$ _Are you a Parselmouth, too_?$" ** He said, a crease in his forehead as he concentrated on the image of a writhing snake in his mind. Lilith raised an eyebrow, but ignored him. **"Some."** She said, glaring impatiently at the door. As if on cue, it burst open with a burst of scalding heat and flame.

Tongues of flame whipped around the room, licking at the walls hungrily, curling menacingly around the legs of the chair. Harry only gulped slightly, giving him a slightly bland look. His Uncle's treatment had battered his psyche, bruising it deeply enough that any fear he had of the blazing fire was locked deeply away after his initial fright. A glint appeared in Lilith's eyes, and she flung the new demon, Alistair, he assumed, into a wall, freezing the flame whip. Fury burned deep into the pits the demon called eyes.

 **"Alistair!"** Lilith barked. Her voice dropped into a soft, low whisper. **"You have failed. You may have broken the seal, but you _lost_ Dean Winchester. However, you can make up for it. First, you will help us, and then you will hunt the escapee and drag him back where he belongs, on The Racks."**

 **"Of course. Anything for our Father."** Alistair replied, emphasizing the word Father. Harry might not have been as brilliant as Hermione, but he recognized the slight the demon had made against Lilith. She saw it as well. Curling a finger sharply, the demon was dragged to her by invisible hands. Letting him fall to the ground abruptly, she leaned down and yanked his head up to face her. Dragging a single finger across his face, carving a deep wound across his cheekbone, she stared at him for a moment, before slapping him harshly across the face.

While with Vernon Dursley this might have been a big beating, judging by the torture weapons and screaming, this was more to embarrass and put in place than to torture.

 **"We will be using our combined power to create a weapon. Azazel has brought us a child with power and promise. We will follow in the steps of our Father and strip his humanity, creating an insta-demon."** She commanded, smirking at her remark.

Harry's eyes widened, and he struggled in the chair, fighting against invisible bonds and physical manacles.

Lilith approached him, and forced his shirt open, displaying his scrawny chest. As she began carving ritual runes into his chest with a razor-sharp nail, blood welling up into the wounds, Fate took her chance. Gripping his bruised soul, she gazed at it, burning it into her eons old mind. Pure white, with spidery lavender-purple cracks running through it centering from a deep black and purple bruise, it still glowed brightly. The brightest soul she'd seen, even as damaged as it was. She stroked it softly, and with each touch of her finger, runes glowed. The runes Uruz, termination and new beginning, Kena, expulsion of darkness, Ingwaz, harmony. Already present, to Fate's surprise, was Sowilo, the rune of light and victory.

As Lilith activated her runes, and the three demons used their powers to smother and abuse Harry's soul, Fate's own runes fought back. Unknown to the trio of demons, instead of the pure black soul it should have become under the onslaught of twisted, destructive darkness, Harry's soul turned a smoky, stormy grey, with a center of searing white, surrounded by a thin ring of pure black. Sweat beaded on Lilith's face, and as she, Alistair, and Azazel fell gasping to the floor, Harry screamed.

The three demons were thrown 10 yards away, crashing into the wall. Harry fell in a heap on the floor, black sludge sliding back into his hair, from his newly reopened scar.


End file.
